


Looking For More

by x (ordinary)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Video Game Company, M/M, SOME OF THIS IS BASED ON THE REALITIES OF MY WORKPLACE, Slow Build, but i'm not sure?, i am not even kidding, i think this is crack, someone wiser than me tell me if this is crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had interviewed to be a QA tester, not a babysitter. That doesn't change a goddamned thing, because the engineers are juggling dodgeballs and the game designers are literally arguing over a cake. It's not even home-made. It's store bought, and they are arguing about who gets to have the corners. </p><p>He should have known better than to apply to somewhere called "Three Wolf Moon Studios", but Scott's puppy-dog eyes were impossible to resist, even at 25. (Well, that, and they make his favorite game of all time.)</p><p>---</p><p>abandoned af sorry fam</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Level 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noplzno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noplzno/gifts).



He's smacking a Steelport gangster upside the head with a giant purple dildo-bat when Scott surprises him with a call on Skype. It's been a while: two months since their last video call, and six since he's seen him in person.

The siren call of Saint's Row the Third can't compare to the call of a best friend, so Stiles closes out of the game as he answers the call/ Scott's face fills up his screen and his smile is bigger and brighter than the sun itself.

"Hey," Stiles says, smiling back because that sort of happiness is disgustingly contagious and his superpower wasn't being grumpy in the face of all things good. "Talk about being _overdue_ , dude. Has your life in the bay area been that interesting?"

It's mostly rhetorical: Stiles knows that _yes_ , yes it has. He has Facebook too, you know.

"Yeah," Scott says, and inhales deeply. Fifteen years of friendship means that Stiles knows he’s in for a story, if he lets Scott get it out. He leans back in his chair in anticipation, steepling his fingers in his best impression of a super villain.

"I finally got a job," Scott admits, looking sheepish, chewing on his lower lip. "I meant to tell you! Seriously! But the interviews were, like, two weeks ago, all three of them, and it was like a big _gauntlet_ and they called me like, _three_ minutes after I turned in my programming test, and—"

"Woah, dude," Stiles says, eyebrows shooting upwards, bouncing his knee in excitement. "One, awesome and congrats, but two, I'm not psychic. You need to start from the beginning!" He waves a hand. "Details! Vámonos!"

Scott has infiltrated his favorite industry, okay. Filling his best friend in on the details is the  _least_  he could do.

"Well…It’s an MMO company," Scott starts. That big, stupid grin of his is back in force. "You know who they are, too."  
  
"Of course I do. I know all of them, _literally_. It’s a compulsion. Do I need to list them in alphabetical order again?"  
  
"No," Scott rushes to say, and he brushes brown locks out of his face, struggling to find his words. Boy needs a haircut. "It’s the one that—well. Okay. They make Unhallowed—"  
  
Stiles abruptly sits up in his seat, and the look he gives Scott through the screen is just absolutely affronted. Like Scott had personally just run over his pet cat—repeatedly, in fact. "You're shitting me," he hisses, hunching forward. "Indie hit Unhallowed? Set at Amityville Academy in the world of Halloween, starring demons and werewolves and ghosts and— With revolutionary character customization capabilities! With branching storylines that change the world and—"

  
Scott laughs warmly, and just props his head up on his hand, resting his elbow on the desk in front of him, a goofy grin on his face. "That's the one. Man, Three Wolf Moon is kinda hardcore, man. I've been doing a lot overtime—which they call crunching?— which doesn't make much sense if I think about it and—"  
  
Stiles holds up a finger to shush Scott. Again. He's starting to look a little irritated about that, but who cares! Stiles has _questions_. He then waves his arms about, doing his best impression of those wind guys outside of car dealerships that wave their arms and wobble.

"I followed Unhallowed obsessively! I followed Peter Hale during the alpha tests! I went to PAX just to play it, and you _know_ how much I hate rain! And Seattle! And hipsters in Seattle!"

"I was really busy, okay!" Is Scott’s immediate defense, and he’s cowering a little, but that _might_ just be because of the sudden yelling, but he's got his hands held up in front of him, and he looks as though he might shut the laptop Stiles doesn't pipe down.

So, reluctantly, he does.

A moment of silence hangs between them: Stiles doesn't know what to ask and Scott is thinking that, if he starts talking again, he's just going to get himself shushed again.

This is entirely within the realms of possibility. 

"I called," Scott starts again, narrowing his eyes, waiting for Stiles to pipe up again. He's too busy chomping at his nail to do so. "Because we need some tester people guys."

"Tester people guys."  
  
"You know! What are they called? Uh. QA. Quality Assurance. And... I told them that you were the best I knew, that you knew everything about the game already."  
  
Stiles squints at Scott. He goes full Leo-Squint, because he can _see_ where this is going. Scott has succesfully gotten his life off the ground, and wants to crush Stiles' beneath his boot under the guise of well meaning assistance.

"And I still had your resume on the USB stick you let me borrow, to er...send my own resume around…"  
  
" _Scott_." This is _mortifying_. That had been half-complete at best. it had been a template for Scott to use! A pretty layout! It was missing his _qualifications!_  
  
"So I sent it to their head of QA…"

" **Scott**!" There went his chances of being a game developer, quite possibly forever! People would ask about him when he submitted his resume to other companies, and someone connected to Three Wolf Moon would look down and whisper 'No.'  
  
"…And so they want you to come in for an interview, like. Tomorrow maybe?"

Stiles is sitting in his chair with his legs pulled up and knees tucked under his chin, fully immersed in moping.

And then it sinks in. He snaps his head up, looking at Scott with the crazy eyes.

"They _what_?"

 

* * *

 

 

And that's how Stiles finds himself standing outside a non-descript building in Redwood Shores, California. It's been twenty four hours since his call with Scott ended, and his voice is still sort of hoarse from all the screaming he'd done. He's spent the last five hours in a car, and is dressed as best as he can manage on a short term notice. 

Stiles peers upward at the building-- there's a sign outside that reads "Three Wolf Moon Studios Inc." in bold lettering, as well as the names of the other small businesses that share the office space, and Stiles doesn't recognise even one of them.

He takes the elevator to the third floor and actually recoils, because in the lobby there's a larger than life cutout of their studio logo: and yes, it's exactly what it sounds like. One wolf has red eyes, another has amber, and the last has blue.

 _There are glowing LED lights in the eyesockets_.

There's an open area, a reception desk, and two doors to the left and right of it. Stiles feels vaguely as though he's on a gameshow. 

Behind door number one comes war cries. Behind door number two comes sounds of something mechanized being fired off. It is a cacophany already, and the girl at the desk has yet to look at him.

 

 _What has he gotten himself into_.


	2. Chapter 2

For one dazed moment, Stiles wonders if he's on a game show. Works out that, maybe, the call from Scott had been a setup. He was now being covertly filmed for his reactions. With a beady glare, Stiles points at the cameras, gesticulating that he's watching them, okay. He _knows_. Edging forwards, Stiles turns to the secretary. The noises coming from behind each of the doors behind her are getting louder: it's a little unsettling.

Despite it, the girl sits at her desk, unaffected by it and Stiles' presence alike. A pencil is tucked into her dirty-blonde hair and she's blowing bubbles with her gum, fingers clacking away, eyes glued to her monitor. The computer is way more interesting than Stiles, he figures. He clears his throat to get her attention.

It takes a moment. A pause, pregnant, and he _knows_ she's doing it on purpose.

"So," she says, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the messy desk, cupping her face with one hand. Her other taps the desk, the click of her nails barely audible.

"Which is it? Fanboy or interview? Never can tell the fuckin' difference." The words are clearly enunciated, drawled and dragged out. She gives Stiles a once over that makes him feel alarmingly under-dressed. Almost naked, in fact. He just barely resists the urge to holds his hands over his crotch.

"The second one," he says, slowly. "Should be a two o'clock interview, last name is Stilinksi?"

A snort. "Are you _asking_ me or are you _telling_ me?" She holds up a hand to ward him off from answering before rapidly punching the keys of her terminal.

"Oh," the receptionist says, and her grin is positively... _pointy_. There's a great deal of teeth showing in that grin. "You're early. Huh. That's a change. Anyways, Isaac'll be around to get you in a second, then. Don't bother sitting down."

Stiles doesn't like the way she talks, he decides. If only because he can't tell if the statements she makes are a good thing or a bad thing or...just a thing. He awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets, itching to move. He bounces on the balls of his feet, and his dad has always lamented about how bad he is at sitting still. Or standing still, even, since that was the case now, and--

The doors to the left and right of the secretary fling open with consecutive bangs, figures charging at each other from opposing sides. Stiles finds himself flinching, and also suddenly understanding where all those war cries had been coming from. He stumbles backwards as they face off in front of the reception desk, like some sort of old-school showdown at high noon. To Stiles' left is a blond guy with a bandana wrapped around his forehead in a mediocre imitation of Rambo. He lacks the muscles to pull it off, but he does have the sleeveless shirt, so points for trying. On the right is a guy in a ninja mask that conceals everything but his eyes, and all black attire that covers him from head to toe. They both are armed, guns heavy in their hands.

But they're not just any guns.

They are _Nerf_ guns.

Stiles stares as Blond-Rambo ducks and weaves out of the way of incoming fire, throwing himself behind the seating area's couch, and Stiles is glad that the receptionist lady told him not to bother. Even if Stiles is now cowering behind a potted plant, because HEY, what else do you do when there's a lot of yelling between two guys way larger than you, armed with office warfare weaponry?!

Ninja-Guy bellows some unintelligible war chant with a voice that is oddly familiar, and Stiles is peeking out from behind the plant with narrowed eyes. 

The secretary blows a gum bubble, popping it. "If any of those hit me," she warns, her voice bored. "I will crush your nuts, you got me?"

"Got it!" they cry in unison, and Ninja-Guy ducks behind her desk for safety, firing his gun blindly with one arm, pointed in Blond-Rambo's general direction, heavy emphasis on _general_. Stiles stays crouched behind his cover. Not out of any fear, just out of some sort of incredulous wonder that a child might have. This was a workplace? Seriously? Who lets you have a Nerf war at work? In costume?! So what if there are weird cardboard dog cut-outs in the entry way.

The two of them circle around the room, ducking behind various objects, but Blond-Rambo is better prepared. Ninja-Guy has run out of ammo for his automatic gun, and Blond-Rambo has conserved a few darts. He aims the toy gun at Ninja-Guy, his grin a little bit on the crazy side.

"Uncle!" Ninja-Guy cries as he ducks, a dart narrowly whizzing over his head. It sticks to the glass window behind him. "I said _uncle_ , come onnnnn, don't be that way, you won, man--" He struggles to yank his mask off, huffing in frustration, and when it's off... Blond-Rambo fires his last few into his mouth without mercy. The guy looks looks smug about it, too, like a cat that's gotten the canary and the cream alike.

Scott splutters and spits it out in his best impression of a character off of some Saturday morning cartoon. Because that is _Scott_ , right there. With a mechanized Nerf gun, smiling at Blond-Rambo with that same doofy grin he always has.

Stiles doesn't hear any of their conversation after that, because he's too busy laughing. "Scott," he wheezes, clutching his belly. "I always knew you were a terrible ninja. It's why I, dread pirate Stilinski, always won."

"Hey!" The Ninja-Wonder-Formerly-Known-as-Scott replies with a pout. "I'm a great ninja! I win against Boyd sometimes! And I even won against Derek once, but never again will I try that." He shudders, and Stiles rolled his eyes, because he still only had a vague idea of who's who. Boyd and Derek both are blank slates in his mind, the only details to assign them both are 'stoic' and 'hardass' respectively.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles shoots back with obvious sarcasm, stepping out from behind the potted plant, patting its trunk lightly. Good tree. Best cover. "I'll only believe that with a signed testimony from an unbiased third party."

Scott gives Stiles _the face_. That face, with the sad frown and the big eyes.

"Stop it! Stop that! You guys scared the shit out of me, I deserve to give you a little bit of shit over it. I earned that with my cowering!"

His friend just shakes his head, walking over to sling an arm around Stiles' shoulders, shaking him a little.

"No way, dude. Besides. Isn't your interview soon? With Isaac, right?" Scott gestures to Blond-Rambo, who's been quietly talking with receptionist-girl. He's pulled the bandana off, and it turns out he looks a lot less psychotic without his manic grin.

"Wait, _that's_ Isaac?"

"Yep. I told you all about him!"

"No, you told me that he was real quiet and shy and that he likes to read science fiction and bike." Scott just shrugs, and Stiles feels it more than he sees it, same with the noncommittal hum that had come with it. "But yeah, it's at two."

Scott is peering at his watch while Stiles thinks to himself. Man. How did Scott get a job here to begin with? Scott! He didn't even have a portfolio. Hell, he didn't even have any experience! How good of a programming test did he turn in, anyway?

"You're doing that thing again," Scott whispers into his ear. "Where you're talking to yourself in your head and forgetting that I'm out here."

"Sorry," Stiles replies, automatic, and exhales heavily.

"It's almost two," Scott says, helpful. Stiles pats him heartily on the back, disentangling himself and strides to where Blond-Ramb-- er. Isaac, is. He offers his hand out to him, because that is what civilized people do. Or at least, it's what his dad said civilized people do, and that Stiles should take his word for it. "You know, the sound of Lord of the Flies going on behind closed doors can freak a guy out, you know? I was expecting something almost .... _gruesome_. Which is why I was behind the plant. But instead of a children's war and a pig's head on a pike, it's just."

He gestures to the cardboard wolves. "...Those, and a Nerf fight."

Isaac's laugh is soft, quiet, sort of contained, like a gunshot from a silenced pistol. "Well," he says thoughtfully, nodding. "Better this way, huh? And, uhm, don't worry, there's no Jack or Roger here." Scott just looks confused, brows knitted as he tries to puzzle out the names being thrown around. Isaac throws his gun over his shoulder and taps the receptionist's desk with his hand. "Talk to you later, Erica?"

She nods and shoos them off, not bothering to explain. _'I'm busy, damnit,'_ is practically audible in her demeanor.

Scott waves his goodbye to Stiles as he heads towards the door on the right that he'd busted out of, full Kool-Aid Man Style. 'Tell me how it goes' Scott mouths, and Stiles tries to reply with a silent 'okay', but Scott has already dashed down the hall at breakneck speed. 

Isaac beckons for Stiles to come into the main floor of the office itself. 

"So," he starts with a smile that's bashful. "You're not hired, yet, of course. But I figured, ah. You might want a quick tour? We have to walk across it all, anyway..."

Stiles just nods, his grin coming easily. This is easier footing, when he can like. You know. Do his thing, with the words and the talking and being the all-around awesome that is the Stiles Stilinski experience. "That'd be awesome, unless there's a hidden animal head somewhere. Then I am the opposite of interested."

"I promise there aren't any that I know of," Isaac says with a soft chuckle of amusement, and his hand is pushing Stiles gently along through the door, closing it quietly behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and yet we are still not at the interview, man i am not so great at moving stories along :|

**Author's Note:**

> i have 1. lost control of my life 2. unashamedly worked aforementioned life into fic 3. did i mention the loss of control over my life


End file.
